Johanna

When I was 6 years old I already knew I’d like to have a tattoo. Back then it would have been a weight scale that would hold a kitten in one cup and the Bible in another. Well, I still don’t have that tattoo, but some others instead.

I took the first tattoo at the age of 15. It’s tribal in my lower back. I tried to think carefully my first 4-5 tattoos before taking them so I wouldn’t regret them when I’m old, as everyone told me.

I don’t regret anything, there are many more tattoos that I haven’t thought so much when I took them. If I like the picture, I tattoo it. And, as for the thing of how I look when I’m old and wrinkly, I wouldn’t imagine myself tossing high fives to myself because I didn’t take any tattoos. I prefer to live for this moment than for the old age. I think my tattoos will be the last sorrow on my head in the midst of all my osteoporosis, dementia and joint pain.

The tattoos that I most carefully considered are on my face, or the first of them, the rest came then by themselves. I promised to my mother that there would be no more tattoos on my face, but at least I have more space on rest of my body.

The pain is the only limit, because the older I get, the more it hurts. So maybe I should have started at the age of six, to get more of the pretty, inked skin!